No light, no light
by Bookjunk
Summary: One-shot. Takes place after 1.10 'Dark Matter.' Owen visits Nikita.


**No light, no light**

He had slipped in undetected. Correction: unchallenged. Nikita's security would definitely not be this lax, so chances were she was as aware of his presence as she had been at the pool. She was merely waiting for him to either attempt to kill her or state his intentions.

The trouble was that he didn't quite know what his intentions were. They – she – had destroyed the first box. Without a second thought. Unflinching.

Now he was supposed to be in London, looking for another guardian and black box, but instead he was here. Despite the size of the space, the artificial lights on the wall were bright to compensate for the night. Her computer switched to a standard screensaver as he stared at it. This was how she communicated with the spy inside Division.

There were a couple of mirrors, cabinets, chairs, lamps, the rack of clothes, the weapons, and the bed. It was all practicality and no identity. If he suggested that she make the place feel more like home, she would scoff; he knew she would. A little atmosphere wouldn't hurt the place, but she would never consider it. It would be one more thing to leave behind. This was a base of operations, a hiding place; nothing more, nothing less. Sooner or later Division would locate it and she would have to move on.

Also, home was people. Daniel to her, Emily to him. His gut twisted as he remembered Emily. The mere mention of her name could do that. The tiniest thought of her.

To his relief, Owen heard Nikita approaching. He moved away from the screen and positioned himself with his back against the wall. Again he couldn't entirely explain his actions. Was he showing off? Was he trying to impress Nikita with his ability to blend into the shadows? Or was it simply a habit he couldn't shake?

He waited for Nikita to appear. Time was a funny thing. It could work against you or work in your favour. Lately, the more time passed, the more of Emily was slipping away. Sometimes he found himself unable to recall specific details about her. How her voice sounded, what her face looked like. It all took a little longer to materialise in his mind. That twist in his gut, just now, that was far less vicious than it had been in the days immediately after Emily's death.

Already his grief was subsiding, morphing into something manageable. This was natural. It also felt like the worst kind of betrayal. Time was erasing what they had meant to each other and diminishing the importance of everything they had shared. He went on. He ate and slept. Every time he woke up, she had drifted further away from him. He found himself thinking of other things besides her and revenge.

Losing Emily was becoming bearable.

As he pressed his back against the wall, letting the cold seep into his clothes, Owen closed his eyes and listened closely. He heard that her feet were bare and her hair wet.

He had heard Emily come out of the shower so many times. Nikita sounded different. She moved with deliberation, as if she carefully measured the consequence of each step.

Every single sound that she made was undeniably harmless, but at the same time packed with the promise of danger. Owen opened his eyes when she came into the room. There was a purpose in how she carried herself that Emily had not possessed. Nikita was always alert. Even when she appeared to be unguarded.

He could smell her shampoo. Though she was standing with her back to him, he pictured her face as she lingered by the doorway. Surprising him, she flipped the light switch. The high ceilinged room was plunged into darkness. The computer's flickering screen was the only thing illuminating the room. Its light was not nearly sufficient.

As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, Owen continued to listen. The problem was that there was nothing left to hear. Nikita was not within reach anymore. He had no idea where she was. This is ridiculous, he thought; say something before she kills you.

Do you always turn off the light whenever you enter a room?

That was what he had meant to be his opening, but he barely got out a 'do' before her stretched leg hit him in the heels and his feet shot out from under him. He landed painfully on his back. Nikita was gone again.

There was movement, but no sound as Nikita suddenly held a knife to his throat. She sat on top of him. Damn. Why was he so off? It is all this thinking about Emily, he tried to convince himself. The cutting edge of the knife felt sharp enough to slice through the vulnerable skin if he tried to open his mouth to speak.

'Owen,' she breathed. The irritation in her voice was as clear as the recognition. Yet, she didn't remove the knife. After a tense pause, the pressure on his throat ceased. Only now was Owen starting to distinguish Nikita's features. Her wet hair was plastered against her scalp.

During their rather one sided fight, her bathrobe had slipped open. As his gaze slid down, Owen caught a glimpse of her naked shoulder. He averted his eyes. She closed her bathrobe. Still she didn't climb off.

There was a puzzled expression on her face. Perhaps she was wondering why he was with her and not in London looking for a black box. Owen was wondering the same thing. He considered that it might be better if she asked him, even though he didn't have an answer. As long as she stopped staring at him like that.

Nikita could feel his arousal against her thigh. He was at a loss to explain what was happening. Yes, she was very beautiful, but his body's reaction to the briefly exposed skin was out of proportion and inappropriate. Not to mention: Emily.

Owen's body tensed at the thought of her. In response, Nikita tensed too. She furrowed her brow, but continued to regard him in silence. Her eyes echoed what was going through his mind. She knew what he felt, because she felt it too. Guilt, disbelief, reluctance and ultimately, despite all the other emotions, desire. The pain was plain on their faces, until Nikita's expression hardened.

Her nails dug into his stomach, trying to locate his zipper. Within a matter of seconds, she had his pants unzipped and unbuttoned and was pulling down his boxers. She took off her bathrobe, allowing it to slip to the floor.

When she got up and walked away, he thought she had come to her senses. He felt an odd sense of relief. It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep with her because, underneath the crushing guilt for feeling something suspiciously resembling passion so soon after Emily, he really did.

Sex wouldn't be an offer of forgiveness on Nikita's part, because he didn't think she had it in her to forgive him. As much as she liked to rationalise that in the death of Daniel he had been an instrument, he knew that she resented his lack of doubt about the assignment. They were conditioned not to ask questions, but in the end Nikita thought that he should have. Fuck Division. Fuck their training. He should have at least asked why. Owen agreed.

He couldn't tell her that killing Daniel had been different, because he had obeyed without hesitation. Of course, whatever reservations he might have had wouldn't have mattered, since Division didn't tolerate resistance. They were a bit like Nikita that way. She tossed him a condom and he put it on while she waited.

With a single minded determination that excited Owen, she straddled him, sinking down on him. They stayed locked in this position, staring at each other. In the muted light of the computer screen, he saw the white gleam of her teeth as she parted her lips slightly.

Then she moved, around him, against him. Tentatively, he placed his hands on her hips, half expecting her muscles to tauten at the touch. To his satisfaction, she relaxed in his arms and released a hissing breath when he thrust up into her. Her damp hair tickled his face. This time he could almost taste her shampoo. Its scent was very sharp and chemical. Practical.

Occasionally, Owen suffered a fractured recollection of Emily. Nikita would tilt her head a certain way that reminded him of her. He would freeze, but Nikita just gently acknowledged the moment and continued. Sometimes he could have sworn he saw his internal conflict reflected in her eyes.

Nikita moved slowly, running her tongue over her lips. Owen didn't think he'd ever had sex in such a quiet and restrained manner. There was something peaceful about the unhurried nature of the act and the honesty of their interaction. There was no need to speak. Entire conversations passed between them without a word.

At the centre of his being, an ending was building. Nikita increased the tempo and he held her tighter. The temperature in the room had dropped, but her hands were hot as she clawed at his shoulders. She fisted the fabric of his shirt. With his nose buried in the tender hollow of her throat, he inhaled the sweet fragrance of her skin.

Now she allowed herself to pant. She brought her mouth closer to his and if there hadn't been two ghosts in the room with them the whole time, he might have believed that she was trying to kiss him. She leaned on her right elbow, before tipping them over, forcing him on top of her. Making use of the position, Owen pushed deeper inside her.

The soft glow that the computer emitted changed colour. It was subtle, but when Owen looked up, he saw that a message had appeared on the screen. He focused on Nikita again. Her dark hair framed her face. His fingers brushed across her cheek; her headshake was barely perceptible, but its meaning was clear. He removed his hand.

In a gesture that was impossible to mistake, she stretched her neck and stared at the ceiling as they came. Their connection was broken, if it had been there to begin with. Now that it was over, Owen thought that he might have imagined it. To her, it had obviously been a case of lust. A fight, almost. A matter of her versus him.

Avoiding eye contact, she got to her feet and picked up her robe. She sauntered over to the computer as she secured the belt. Suddenly, he found her silence vaguely unsettling.

'Owen?'

'Yes?'

It was hard to believe that something as good as Nikita could happen to a man like him. A murderer. A monster. A sinner. Thus, her next words didn't surprise him.

'This didn't take place.'

There was a finality in her voice that he envied. Despite her harsh words, her shoulders slumped in defeat. She looked at him and he nodded. This was the least he could give her. She had not slept with the man who had killed Daniel.

While she sat down and answered the message, he prepared to leave. She didn't ask him why he had visited, which was unlike her. She was usually so goal oriented. Perhaps she knew. Perhaps she had felt the shift, just as he had.

He could perfectly recall the moment when everything between them had shifted. Chained up in the air, sure to meet death upon landing, he had balked at the CIA agent calling them partners. Nikita had looked at him and Owen feared that he had given himself away. Maybe he had protested too quickly, because he had wanted to beat her to the denial. Somehow she'd seen what he wanted and she had calmly insisted that, on the contrary, they _were_ partners.

That might be why he hadn't left for London after she shot the black box. That might be why he had come to see her. She was the closest thing he had to a friend. Owen had no desire to disturb the fragile balance they had achieved in their relationship, so he left before the urge to articulate his feelings could overtake him.

Outside, he glanced at the darkened windows. The light came on after a few seconds. Owen turned away and ignored his heart's false start. It was easier to agree with the lie, he discovered. Because he could handle his own regret in the morning, but not hers.

The end.

(***)

Author's note: I haven't seen anything past episode 1.10 yet, so I hope this doesn't contradict the following episodes too much. And if it does, well, I apologise. Reviews are very welcome.


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